


The Life and Times of Percival Graves-Weasley

by TheDancingWind



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Christmas, Gen, Magic, Non-Graphic Violence, POV Percy Weasley, Percy Weasley-centric, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-15
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-07-12 10:08:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15993017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDancingWind/pseuds/TheDancingWind
Summary: The first time Molly Weasley saw her third baby, she knew that he was a Percival. She didn’t question it further because sometimes magic worked in mysterious ways like that.





	1. From Zero to Eleven

The first time Molly Weasley saw her third baby, she knew he was a Percival. She didn’t question it further because sometimes magic just happened, mysteriously and unexpectedly.

The first time Arthur tried to introduce Bill and Charlie to their new brother, he became Percy.

And the first time Percy remembered being Percival, was the day after his ninth birthday party. He woke up with the thought that he had overslept, that he was very late and that he needed to go to the office immediately. His aurors needed guidance and often a bit of motivation to go to work (except for Goldstein).

At that point, Percy stopped. ‘My aurors? My office?’ he thought. He was nine years old and didn’t go to work. But he remembered. He remembered something; a great hall full of witches and wizards, a beautiful woman with an ornate, gold headdress, his aurors and his office. ‘What a strange dream. It felt so real.’

The strange dreams continued. More often than not, Percy’s nights were filled with a different life, the life of Percival Graves, leader of the American auror forces. During the dreams, Percy was another man. During the day, Percy was a child, was himself.

However, soon he noticed that these dreams were influencing his thoughts, his actions. He found most games childish and boring and kept more to himself. He preferred reading and the quiet. He knew it was strange but he didn’t want to go to his parents with this issue, Fred and George made fun enough of him as it was for being boring and rule-abiding. It always hurt to be excluded and ridiculed by them, even if he didn’t want to play with them all the time and refused to take part in any of their pranks… He just wanted them to be save! Their antics could get dangerous very easily!

Thus, Percy continued to keep his dreams a secret. They were interesting, exciting and his own. That was another reason he didn’t tell anyone about them. He didn’t have to share them – they were no one else’s but his.

Early in his first year in Hogwarts, Percy learned that his dreams were more than just fantasies. He could explain knowing the spells his parents used by just that – he obviously had seen them before and either asked how they worked or looked it up.

Still, most of the spells he learned in class also seemed familiar, even the ones he was certain his mom and dad hadn’t used in front of him. However, he had seen and used them in his dreams. He also knew answers to most of the questions his teachers asked, without consulting his textbooks, previously Charlie’s, and could often think of tangents that his teachers didn’t even mention.

So, in one evening, when all his housemates were hopefully asleep, he snuck out of his dorm to the Gryffindor common room. Before he entered, he looked if anybody else was there, but thankfully nobody was. Percy entered quietly, closed the door behind him and took a deep breath.

He was nervous. If he could indeed do magic he learned from dreaming about being Percival Graves, then they were magical and weird. Because no wizard or witch he knew of had learned spells from sleeping. Why would anyone go to Hogwarts if that were true? Anyways, he didn’t want to be not-normal. Less normal than his normal anyways. And that was bad enough.

His classmates were friendly and seemed to be nice kids, but Percy felt disconnected to them, felt so much older, so far away from their problems and ideas. Sometimes he played a round of gobstones with a girl from his class and he was cordial with most of the Ravenclaws he met in the library. His dorm mates seemed nice enough even if they were obsessed with Quidditch. Percy was friendly with most of the people he met, but couldn’t claim to be friends with any of them.

Percival, he had noticed, had a similar problem. Only he did it on purpose; to be professional he treated even the people who were his friends as professionals, as colleagues, as subordinates or superiors. For Percival that seemed to work fine, he loved and lived his job. But Percy wanted some friends because school couldn’t keep him as focused as crime fighting and he wanted real connections to people. He didn't want to be lonely.

For that reason, he sometimes wanted to be more like all the other kids. He sometimes wished that he didn’t have these dreams and that if he had to have them, at least he wished them to be normal dreams of a boy, a brother of many siblings, who wanted to be a cool, strong auror everybody respected and not anything else that set him apart. 

Right then he really wished the dreams were normal, even if the dreams about hours upon hours of paperwork didn’t fit into that concept. Even if that reflective, so grown-up thought didn’t lend itself to that idea, he had some hope that he just had a wild imagination and was unusually far developed for his age.

Again, he took a deep breath, readied himself and cast Wingardium Leviosa and Engorgio on one of the parchment sheets lying on one of the tables, letting it fly and making it bigger, followed by Reducio, shrinking the page again, Diffindo, cutting it, Reparo, repairing it, Flipendo, flipping it away, Stupefy, stopping it in the air, Duro, turning it into stone, Fumos, filling the room with fumes, hiding the sheet, a Finite Incantatem, vanishing the fumes and letting the re-transfigurated page fall back on the table. The spells all worked. He continued on and tried some more magics he had only seen in his dreams.

An hour came and went before Percy stopped casting spells he never knew were real. Then he broke down a little. His dreams were true, even if those spells were a lot more difficult than the auror made them seem. He felt tired, empty and had never been so exhausted before as he was then.

The next day was hard, his sleep had been troubled after this revelation. Even his dreams were harsher than usually. Percival was in a dark space, alone and helpless. Many acquaintances of Percy asked if he was alright. He didn’t know how to answer them or even how to feel about all of this. So he just said that he hadn’t slept well, which was true, and thanked them for their concern. How could he feel about his dreams? If they were that. How did he see probably very real events in his dreams? 

Or was he just mad?

After silently freaking out throughout the day, Percy went to the library and began a wide search for books related to magical dreams. At first, he thought he was a seer, that he had a rare but real ability to see the future. However, the books on that matter agreed that the future was always uncertain, always shown in riddles and possibilities, mostly observed with the utilisation of some object, such as crystal balls or tea leaves, and with a particular question in mind. Dreams were unusual conduits to the future, even visions were more common. 

Moreover, closely following the life of only one person in first person perspective was unheard of. Percy doubted that he would ever experience anything else than such snippets from Percival Grave’s life. He concluded that he most probably wasn’t a seer.

His next avenue of research was into the man himself. With the help of a very useful spell to indicate books containing specified words, Percy surprised himself a little as he found a book in which the name Percival Graves was mentioned. ‘The Grindlewald War’ was its name, a historical text about one of the most notorious dark wizards of recent history according to the summary.

Percy shuddered. That name made his skin crawl. Grindlewald. In a flash, he saw a pale man with wild hair, then Percival with a cruel sneer on his face. It frightened him, even if he knew he was safe in Hogwarts, one of the most secure places in Wizarding Britain.

‘I need to get over myself,’ Percy thought. ‘I want, no, I need answers. Answers why this name makes me so afraid, why I have these dreams.’ He took the book, sat down in a chair in a remote corner, and opened the book at the indicated place. The soft light from the searching spell made the book look warm, a wild contradiction to Percy’s thumping heart and shaking hands.

> After his flight to America, Gellert Grindlewald took the shape of Percival Graves, at the time the Director of Magical Security and Head of the American Department of Magical Law Enforcement, as well as a friend of Seraphina Picquery, the then-President of the Magical Congress of the United States of America.  
>  Through this deception, Grindelwald gained access to classified information on ongoing investigations into public and unexplained magical occurrences happening throughout New York. In the course of this investigation, he found a boy named Credence, an obscurial whom Grindelwald sought to weaponize. […]  
>  While Grindelwald was temporarily caught and the Obscurus destroyed, Percival Graves was never found. A new director of magical security was eventually sworn into office in 1927.

Percy’s head swam. So he dreamt about a long dead man whose life earned a short paragraph in the book on another man’s ambitions. ‘That’s it. Part of it at least,’ he noted dispassionately and still confused. He thought it would give him more if he learned something so significant about his dreams. Now he knew Percival was real, a real, historical figure.

It was quite weird to read these dry sentences when he vividly remembered Grave’s life, which from Percy’s perspective amounted to one adventure after another, divided only by short periods of paperwork and sometimes passionate, sometimes drier and mostly exhausting meetings.

‘Now,’ Percy thought to himself, ‘the only question remains is why I dream about you, Percival Graves.’


	2. Eleven and Thirty-Plus

The answer to that question didn’t come easily. Percy didn’t even know where to look for it. The books about dreams he had read dealt mostly with divination and some discussed nightmares; however, curing those always necessitated a magical and physical remedy, for example, a dreamless sleep potion. That didn’t help him.

The eleven-year-old was a bit stumped. His searching spell using the words magical dream offered too many books, some not even remotely helpful. He didn’t need vacation recommendations or wanted to read novels about achieving dreams. Then he had an idea.

“ _Point me_ the answer to my question!” Percy cast and felt the magic rise in his wand, felling it pulling to the right. He followed it until his wand pointed to the left, then to the right, left, and right again, until he had walked around the library in strange routes and ended where he started.

Madam Pince gave him a rebuking stare and he ducked his head. ‘Yeah, that would have been too easy,’ he thought as he sat down again and took one of the books he’d only skimmed earlier.

Hours passed until he found something promising. It was a treatise on Indian wizarding culture and in the section about dreams, the British author explained a meditation ritual used to try to find out information about one’s previous incarnation, a practice and ritual invented after the originally non-magical belief in reincarnation reached Indian witches and wizards.

Sometimes people reported that they saw snapshots during these rituals, only rarely someone saw a more coherent picture. However, in a very few cases, ritual takers continued to get more flashes during their sleep. While the author seemed quite sceptic, he did include a quote from one of the witches. Eagerly, Percy continued to read.

> The week after the ritual I began to have very realistic dreams. Some were quite boring, in one I was doing housework and cooked a meal. Only I had never cooked this meal or even heard of it. And as I – in the dream – looked outside, I saw fantastic landscapes I had never heard nor dreamt of. It was the sight of my last incarnation’s husband in the dream, whom I had previously seen in the vision during the reincarnation ritual, that led me to the conclusion that I had started to see my previous life in my dreams.

‘This … this was …’ Percy felt overwhelmed and exceedingly relieved at the same time, happy to have found an explanation but uncomfortable that he had a previous life, another person influencing him so much. He had never questioned that he was Percy Weasley, Percival Graves was just a dream-self, a more or less real fantasy that let him learn some magic. It hadn’t really been him. Now he learned that he was in fact Percival. ‘Or is Percival me?’ he pondered.

With these questions the relief didn’t last long, but at least the dreams came from nothing worse. It was not a curse or other malicious magic. Quickly, he grabbed all books about reincarnation and incarnations he could find in the library. He still believed that knowing about a thing could only benefit, give advantages in fights, physical and personal. (The hat _had_ considered all houses for him, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin. But Gryffindor was really his only option.)

Altogether he found only two articles. It seemed these were not popular topics. After consuming the offered knowledge, he knew why. There was no evidence that the dreams came from more than active imaginations.

Even truth spells and potions couldn’t prove anything when people talked about their previous incarnations, they could confirm neither truth nor lies. While these measures didn’t exactly indicate lies, they also didn’t exactly indicate truths. One Indian witch speculated that this had to do with the nature of reincarnation.

All incarnations, while connected, were different people and it could be that the magic of the truth spells and potions differentiated between them, which would make all tales about previous incarnations lies, but it still noticed the underlying truth at the same time, resulting in the observed, non-standard reactions and non-reactions.

Others just believed that this was a case of believing something false to be true, but not enough for the magics to indicate it as a truth. 

Percy’s head hurt. If this was how reincarnation was seen, he knew, on the one hand, that he wasn’t Percival Graves. He was Percy, who had a previous incarnation who was Graves. He felt a bit better knowing he wasn’t just Percival Graves 2.0. and only had some of his memories. One less thing to worry about.

On the other hand, he now knew that nobody could really trust his word when he told anyone about all of this.

 

These realizations clouded his night, until he decided that not much had changed. He knew now why he dreamt about Percival. He still didn’t want to tell anyone about all of this because he saw no reason to.

He knew this wasn’t malignant magic, it was just a quirk that his soul remembered a previous incarnation. Sometimes magic just happened, and this wasn’t something he needed to worry about because it wasn’t that bad. Also, he couldn’t change it and nobody whom he told could change it. So, it was what it was. 

With that determination, Percy turned towards other areas of live and studies. Sometimes, he still wondered why him, why Percival. Sometimes he felt no divide between himself and the American, he felt that he was Percival. Sometimes he even reacted like him. Sometimes that scared him and sometimes it felt as natural as breathing.

He continued to excel in his schoolwork. It wasn’t in him to lie about his abilities, even if it might have boosted his chances at making a friend. He knew he wanted to be seen and accepted as he was, befriended for who he was, reach all his potential. Not living a lie seemed very important to him, even if he held that one secret close to his heart. Maybe especially because of that. One enormous secret from friends was enough, wasn’t it?

His – Percival’s friend Seraphina, whose name he had been able to instantly put together with the woman in the intricate headdress as he had read the Grindlewald treatise, had taught him that in school, not to live a lie. To be precise, she had taught it to him in the dreams about the school for magic in America. He strongly resonated with the advice to be true to oneself, to not fake being somebody else.

Something else about true appearances was in the back of his mind; however, he couldn’t put his finger on what that was, exactly. ‘Maybe I’ll remember it, maybe not. It doesn’t really matter, it is in the past,’ Percy ruminated. ‘Ilvermorny … it’s interesting to know so much about another school of magic. It’s so different, yet so much is the same… I just wish I’d dreamt of how Percival had met his friends, maybe that could … hmm, no matter. I should, I must go my own way.’


	3. Back Home at Nine, Seven, Six, Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To mix up the holiday-events a bit because else it gets too boring. ;)

Percy’s path seemed to be mostly solitary for quite a while. During the Christmas holidays he went home, which was a nice difference because it was incredibly hectic and there was lots to do, a sharp difference to Hogwarts, where Percy’s organizational skills and lack of close friends left him too much time for himself and serene studying. 

While mom and dad were working and preparing for a feast, Bill, Charlie and Percy were often entertaining the twins and their littlest siblings, Ron and Ginny. Children’s Quidditch and snowball fights seemed to be this year’s hits. They were already nine, seven and nearly six years old.

Percy could still remember when they were babies – no quiet moment could be had but they made it up by being adorable when they were not screaming or spitting. Even the twins had such moments, even now.

However, Percy wasn’t sure if this was one of them.

“So, you have a gift for me?” he asked them.

“Yes –“ began George.

“ – it’s outside,” continued Fred while tugging on his sweater.

“Come with us!” they finished together. It wasn’t the first time that he thought his brothers had to have some kind of twin magic. Since they had learned to talk, they seamlessly divided sentences between themselves. It was cute when it wasn’t creepy or annoying.

Percy could already see where this request was going, but he neither wanted to see their disappointed – faked or not – faces, nor deal with the fallout. Revenge pranks for ruining their fun were always less funny than humorous ones. 

He still remembered the time when he had had to endlessly search for the book he had been reading, which had somehow vanished mysteriously. Neither pleading with them, reasoning with them nor threatening them to retaliate by hiding their own stuff had worked, so he had been forced to escalate matters and go to Mum.

Back in the present, he asked, “And this present is not a prank? Even though it's not Christmas yet.”

“Nooo,” they shook their heads innocently. Well, Percival had made many memories walking into ambushes and dealing with dangerous artifacts. What was the worst that could happen?

“Okay,” he said and let himself be dragged towards the garden. The outside was a winter wonderland only made more magical by the glowing fairy lights spun into the hedges.

As he stepped out of the door, he spotted their gift for him. It seemed they had got their hands on real wrapping paper. It looked more wrinkled than most of the other presents he had received before but the dancing snowflake design was beautiful.

This was also the largest present he had ever gotten. Percy studied his environment as he inched closer. It was barely noticeable but it was also moving slightly. The still beauty of the backdrop stood in contrast with the nerves he felt. The twins’ pranks weren’t malicious or purposefully dangerous – but they were nine and if something seemed like it could be funny or interesting, they might not even see what could go wrong.

As he was underage, he couldn’t use magic unless it was an emergency. The Wizengamot probably wouldn’t agree that avoiding pranks from kid brothers were emergency situations… except if the prank went _really_ awry.  
With a wary eye and a designated free hand for wand work, he stepped closer – just so that the parcel was in his reach – and carefully peeled the wrapping paper away. This time he could definitely feel the box moving.

And the twins were giggling.

Percy sighed. Was it rats? Frogs? Snakes? The latter were more unrealistic as it was winter but it wouldn’t do to underestimate Fred and George. They were ingenious, inventive and very determined for nine-year-olds.

Percy put away the wrapping. The box was now only loosely bound by a string. He pulled it and tipped the box away from himself, the twins and the porch.

Three gnomes scrambled out, furiously they then turned around to Percy and with high-pitched screams they jump-attacked his feet in revenge for their imprisonment. 

The young wizard ducked to catch two of them at their feet, twirled around once and tossed them over the nearest hedge. They would be fine, even tossing them a lot further didn’t harm them.

The third one got his trousers.

The gnome used its sharp teeth, arms and legs to hold onto him and it – He? She? – took out pieces of the fabric. It snarled and when Percy managed to lose one limb, another attached itself to him. It took him a minute under constant twinned laughter to throw the last gnome over the hedge.

Annoyed, he looked at his trousers. Even with sewing spells, they would never look the same.

‘Really?’ he asked and turned to his brothers. Gnomes? As if they weren’t a big enough nuisance in the summer, the twins managed to catch one in winter as well?

‘No,’ they snickered and Percy just saw that both of his brothers pulled on a piece of cloth going up towards the roof, which was covered with heaps of snow, which was not good because it was coming down, sliding down the shingles, right at him, and he had just turned around and he took a step backwards to dodge – and Percy was standing knee-deep in ice-cold snow.

‘Really?’ he reiterated.

The twins _cackled._

‘Got-‘

‘-cha!’

They high-fived.

Really, Percy was impressed. Annoyed, cold and drenched but impressed nonetheless. He had not seen the second stage coming; they had hidden the trap very well.

He hadn’t expected it and that was really the only reason he fell for it, he told himself. He didn’t do it to let them have their fun and it wasn’t because he hadn't been fast enough; no, never.


	4. Christmas at Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To continue the trend to post this Christmas-related story around other holidays. ;)

Obviously, the twins got lectured shortly afterwards. Mum had run out, surveyed the porch and consequently made the twins wash their linen by hand while she tried to fix Percy’s trousers. The twins weren’t impressed and sent glares in Percy’s direction, as if he was somehow responsible for their short misery.

Aside from that brief episode, the days before Christmas were light and glitter and the twins forgot their grudge against their brother after a few hours of pouting. During that time, the house constantly smelled like gingerbread and cookies. Eventually, everybody helped a bit with preparations – Molly wouldn’t have it any other way and no one wanted to challenge her on that – so it was also quite hectic sometimes, but nice.

Ginny loved hanging up garlands even if they hung waist-high, Ron put up way too many orange Cannon-Ball-themed decorations, the twins had their fun by making their gingerbread-men with weird expressions and outlandish clothing, and Percy’s elder brothers were chill and good company. It was all good fun.

In the end, the house looked brilliant and very colorful during Christmas time. The entire living room was changed; garlands, baubles and icicles hung all around, self-made and individualized socks hung next to the fireplace, and one of the trees in the garden had been decorated with bows, baubles and enchanted candles. It also had been charmed to softly glow in the winter nights.  
It was very festive.

Christmas dinner was a feast, that though it didn’t rival the feast in Hogwarts in regards of amounts, it surpassed it by being exactly what they liked. Molly had made excellent food. It was very nice and as always wonderfully yummy.

The homey and – there is no other as fitting word – jolly atmosphere may have helped too.

It was also practically inevitable that Percy’s dad, Arthur, began to speak about his favourite topic some time during the meal, namely muggles. It seemed he had gotten wind of a new doodad they had invented for Christmas – talking Santa toys.

“And they talk! They wish you a merry Christmas! And say ‘Ho ho ho’! Can you believe that? With no magic!”

Percy could believe that easily. Automobiles and radios were much earlier non-magical inventions that worked just fine and were arguably more impressive. 

“Actually, I think that that is par for the course, after all, no-majs – ahem, muggles also made automobiles and radios,” murmured Percy.

“Yes, yes! Isn’t that amazing?” Arthur gushed.

The first-year student didn’t think so. It was reasonable to expect people without magic to try to make their lives easier and more fun with the options they had, wasn’t it? Witches and wizards just had magic as their go-to tool, no-majs had technology.

Also, Percy remembered, that technology wasn’t always “amazing”. Guns could kill unguarded wizards and witches. He knew the Percival had had to fill in paperwork with those as causes of death and injury.

“I guess it’s fine,” he quietly said as his father looked at him expectantly, ecstatic that somebody was responsive to that topic. Percy didn’t really think that his dad wanted to know that tidbit and also, how could he justify knowing all of this? Better not to bring more attention to that.

“Mummy, what’s a no-maj?” asked Ginny in that moment. 

“Well, I don’t know, darling. Let’s ask your brother, shall we?” his mother answered kindly. Percy froze.

‘What to say, what to say –‘

“It is another word for muggles. A friend of mine –“

“Oooh,” crowed one of the twins, “Percy got frie-ends! Are they –“

“Young man!” mom interrupted and that ended this topic. Percy was somewhat thankful for the interruption, he preferred not having to juggle les on top of his omissions.

In the next morning, when Ron, Ginny, Fred and George were up at what felt like dawn, there were presents, which were unceremoniously ripped open for the most part.

Clothes and books for the elder kids, clothes and a few toys – including magical bubble blowers, a card game, and a talking Santa – for the younger ones came from their parents, Bill had packed up sweets from Honeydukes and a covert gift for the twins from Zonko’s, Charlie gave all of them an enchanted picture of dragons, Percy had brought treats from Hogwarts under a stasis charm, and Ron and Ginny made snow people out of papier-mâché for Mum and Dad.

And George and Fred drew a card for everyone. It showed the entire family together, including Percy, in front of what was obviously their house (identifiable by the ghoul waving from the attic) surrounded by Christmas trees and gnomes.

It was then that Percy realized that he hadn’t been as lonely in this house as he had sometimes felt in retrospect. He was a real part of this family. Even the twins saw it that way.

His parents were often busy working to make money and to keep up the household, and more concerned with the younger and “problem”-children, however, Mum and Dad had asked Percy about Hogwarts, included him in chores (yay) and tried to find topics to talk with him. But Percy was sometimes an awkward conversationalist, not knowing if what he was going to say was age-, place- and time-period-appropriate or not. Still, his parents weren’t deterred – even if they had to shoulder the bigger part of conversation.

Also, while his younger siblings did like to play with each other, they did ask him to read to them regularly, to help with their homework or to play a game of cards with them. It was the other games that he hadn’t been invited to for the last years – catch, hide-and-seek, Floor-Quidditch and play pretend, which arguably made up a lot of their games.

But he couldn’t blame them for that. He himself had told them that he didn’t want to join so often that they had probably understood that these games weren’t for him (anymore) and had stopped asking.

The twins had then ramped up their complaints about him and pranked him the most. Ron and Ginny didn’t seem to know what was going on but they also didn’t disagree with them. He had thought that that meant that they didn’t like him anymore! But – 

'I think,' he thought, 'I think I pushed them away too. Or pulled away. Maybe it was for a … an okay reason because I wouldn’t have fun playing these games but … it wasn’t okay to blame them for not including me anymore or not playing games I was interested in and it wasn’t okay to assume stuff about how they felt…'

He continued that line of thought, 'Fred and George, even though they rallied against the rules and consequences, maybe they did in a way reach out to me and told me that they didn’t like that I stopped being their playmate so often because their tirades about me being no fun and the pranks on me only really escalated after that… I think they might still like me even if things are different now?'

Percy looked again at the card. They were all standing together and smiling. 'Yeah, they do.'

That realisation was warming his heart. He felt so glad. He had been stupid not to think of this earlier. He wasn’t as isolated as he sometimes felt. Maybe his memories made him different, made him feel different, but he was still part of his family.

Percy looked around. Ron was currently playing with Ginny, his elder brothers were talking with dad, the twins were giggling at one of their own jokes and mum was looking at all of them and then him, with a smile.

He was part of this. And if he could do that, and he had done it all his life, maybe he could find somebody to accept him at school too. He wasn’t too strange, even with Percival in his memories or his tendencies to be more grown-up than expected.

And maybe his family was a bit strange too – like him! – with their muggle, Lockhart, curse breaking, dragon, prank, Chudley Cannons and doll obsessions but perhaps everybody was a bit weird in some way.

All these conclusions were a game changer for Percy. Maybe it was his wondrous Christmas miracle curtesy of Father Christmas. Or maybe it was just family and seeing what you have and could have.


End file.
